


Because I Love You.

by PandoraButler



Series: Sherlock One-Shots [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler
Summary: Sherlock has PTSD-like symptoms after coming home from the two years he was without John.





	Because I Love You.

__John Watson could sleep no more due to the sound of wretched yelling. There was only _one_  scenario where he had heard such a noise as this before. It almost always had something to due with himself. John would wake up in the middle of the night screaming his own ears off. The war would not leave him alone. It was hateful. Purely miserable. But, tonight, as he looked down at himself, he realized, the noise was not coming from him.  _He_  was not the one screaming. Strange. Very strange. Where was he? John ran a hand through his hair as he tried to remember. It was difficult remembering. Especially with that screaming in the background. 

Ah. 221 B? Was it? He had told Mary to go back home after he reunited with Sherlock. He had wanted to pummel him for a night or two till he had gotten answers. Why did he fake his death like that? Such a rude thing to do. John had been the only one out of the loop-Sherlock? Sherlock! Could it be  _him_  screaming? The idea seemed crazy, but, what about Sherlock  _wasn't_  crazy?

John followed the screaming to Sherlock's room. Yes. Just as he had suspected. Sherlock was screaming. The door was already opened so all John needed to do was walk in. However, it was more difficult than he expected. Should he really be doing this? Maybe Sherlock didn't wish to be seen in such a state. No. He  _must_  do this. And so, he walked in. Sherlock hadn't even noticed him. He must be really involved in whatever memory he was experiencing, if it was a memory at all.

And then, it stopped. Sherlock's arms were removed from clutching his hair. Those two arms fell to his sides. Sherlock stopped. He looked like a doll. John wouldn't have known that he was breathing if he hadn't seen the bare chest move for himself. Sherlock's eyes started pouring with tears as he stayed there, in the night, just sobbing. Mrs. Hudson wasn't here tonight, thank God for that. Perhaps that was why this was happening. Sherlock's mind knew that Sherlock had a chance to respond to his suppressed emotions.  Was that why he hadn't seemed himself at first? In the restaurant? Well, anything is possible, right? John knew something was off he just couldn't place it, and now, he knew. 

"Sherlock?" John spoke, "Sherlock, are you okay?" he asked. Sherlock didn't respond. This is almost identical to how he is when he enters his 'mind palace.' Except, this is different. This isn't Sherlock trying to show off. This isn't Sherlock trying to be the intelligent detective. This is just Sherlock,  _being human,_ and John didn't know which version scared him more. 

John tried a couple of times to get Sherlock to respond, when he didn't, John had to do the only other thing he knew how to do. He went over and hugged the male. John had always wished that someone had been there to hug him. No matter how dangerous it was. No matter how stupid it could be.  _John had always hoped someone would do it_. 

Maybe Sherlock was the same. Maybe Sherlock was completely different. That didn't matter. Sherlock could complain afterwards. But, right now, John had forgotten about all of his hatred towards Sherlock. He had forgotten about all of the pain he'd experienced these past two years. Now he knew. Now John knew that Sherlock wasn't gone because of a vacation. No, John was now being cruelly reminded that Sherlock had been doing his brother's bidding all this time. Mycroft might have kept him alive but he didn't protect him. John had someone completely new to hate now, (not that he hadn't hated him before). 

Inside Sherlock's mind he was reliving the same scene he had relived countless times before. It started off with him doing heinous crimes for Mycroft, but it always ended with him reuniting with John. It always ended with John rejecting him when he came back, because Sherlock had left him in  _that_  way. No matter what he did. No matter what he had said. Sherlock couldn't get John to accept him again. He understood. Sherlock understood. He was a terrible person. The worst of the worst. He had shut himself off from emotions, from friends, from people that cared, but, once you know what a friend is, it is hard to go back to the life you once had. You only know  _true_  loneliness after you have lost the one thing you've always longed for. You can't recreate the monster you once knew yourself to be once you have touched that forbidden fruit. 

Sherlock hadn't heard John walk in. He hadn't felt John's arms around his body. He was too busy being blank. He couldn't feel sensations. He couldn't hear noises. He could barely force his mouth to open. When his mind  _did_  start churning again it was still difficult to control his body.

What is in a body? Humans are just carbon based life forms. What does it mean to exist? What does it mean to move? Does anything really exist beyond what we see? Or have we developed our own versions of what the world is? These are the questions that kept Sherlock conscious. As long as he was thinking of something...there was hope that he could move once again. 

John. Why not think about John? There was the John that hated him. The John that traveled inside him as a conscience. There was the real John. There was the John that loved him or the John that wasn't getting married. So many different versions of  _John_. But, the one hugging him was real, wasn't it? He hadn't noticed before but now he did. And now it hurt.

There were so many things he wanted to say. So many ways that he could attempt to make this situation seem not-so-serious. But each time he tried to open his mouth, his words wouldn't come out. They wouldn't escape. It was like his mind knew he was trying to lie and his heart wouldn't allow it. The time for lying had passed. John had already seen him like this. There was no going back now. He had tried for so long and now it was here. This night. Why this night? Why on this bed? He didn't want it to happen now. Not like this. John shouldn't see him as a human. John should only know him as the person he wished to be. Well, now John knew. Such a shame. 

Sherlock opened his mouth, his lower lip quivered, but no words. Still. No words. Why doesn't this body just listen to his wishes? Well, because, what he wishes for and what he is forcing himself to do are two different things. What he wants to say and what he will force himself to say are two different things. Sherlock wants to force himself to push John away. But. The truth of the matter is: Sherlock doesn't want to be left alone. Being alone would be worse. It would mean that he had driven away his final chance for being human. His final chance to have someone love him; to have him love someone else.

John. From the minute I met you I knew you were different. From the moment you entered that room in St. Bart's, I knew. You are kind, compassionate, sometimes too perfect for your own good. But, it's okay. You don't have to be here. You never  _did_  have to be  _here_. I understand. You can leave now. I am not your patient. I am not even your friend. I faked my death and now you no longer need me. We are two sides of the same coin, but, don't you know that two headed coins exist? You no longer need the tails. It's fine. I understand. I do. I have lived this long without you, so, it's okay, you can leave, "you don't have to be here." the words finally escaped Sherlock's mouth but it was incomplete. There is no way John is going to fully understand from just  _that_. Well, what is done is done and there is no going back. He can't repeat what he thought. He can still barely utter words. His tears are still threatening to escape once more. 

"What did you say?" John asked. He felt stupid for not hearing the first time, but, Sherlock had spoken very quietly. What was he supposed to do? Have super-human hearing? 

Silence. Just more silence. Sherlock had trouble speaking the first time. The second time was just as hard, "you don't have to be here," he repeated. What nonsense was that? Of course he didn't have to be here. He  _wanted_  to be here. Obviously. Sherlock needed him, or, was he mistaken? Did Sherlock want to be alone? Or, maybe, Sherlock was just stating the truth. No. John didn't have to be  _here_  no one did. You're there for the people you love simply because you love them. It's isn't a science. It is human nature. 

"I know," John paused, "but I want to be," he paused again and clung to Sherlock tighter, "because I love you." Love comes in many forms and some of them Sherlock hasn't even discovered yet. But. He didn't need to  _understand_  what John meant because the emotions he felt in this moment were real. That's all. This was the one thing Sherlock had never heard in his life. People might have said it, but, after a while the things your parents tell you become routine. After a while the things your brother says hold no meaning. Sometimes people say 'I love you' without thinking, without understanding. But, when  _John_  said it, Sherlock could almost  _feel_  the absolute truth. Which was something he hadn't felt before. It was strange. Foreign. But not terrible.

"Heh," Sherlock laughed. It was a miserable noise but it was a laugh nonetheless. His hand clenched the nightshirt of John Watson as more tears flooded out of his eyes, "just when I thought I had finally gotten myself under control," he cried, "you had to go and say something like that."

"Attempting to control or suppress what you don't understand doesn't make it healthy."

"I never asked you to be my doctor. I never asked you to look after my mental health. I certainly never required you to stay."

"Well, you better get used to it, because I'm not leaving anytime soon."

"Liar," Sherlock smiled in the shirt of his doctor. He knew that there was no guarantees in this world, but, wasn't there a saying? 'It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.' Sherlock might be finally understanding that statement now, and he wasn't sure how to respond to such a notion...


End file.
